


Mistakes, Apologies, and Stubborness

by NirCele



Series: Revenge [5]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NirCele/pseuds/NirCele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel still hasn't been forgiven, and Elrond has decided to send him on a long patrol so Erestor will calm down, and possibly reconsider. Glorfindel discovers something terrible while gone, and back in Imladris, Erestor finds that his letter is gone. Events coincide, decisions made, and a forged friendship just might be breaking. This is the fifth part of the Revenge series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes, Apologies, and Stubborness

Greetings, faithful readers/followers/commenters! I thank all of you for waiting the long time to read this, and apologize for not writing and posting this sooner. I also wasn’t satisfied with a scene near the end, so I deleted it and rewrote it. Now I’m happier. Glorfindel and Erestor angst coming up!

 

“Ada?”

Lord Elrond finished stacking the books onto the shelf and he glanced down at his young son, who was standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Identifying the twin, he said, “Yes, Elrohir?”

Dark grey eyes stared up mournfully at him. “Why is Glorfy and ‘Restor sad?”

Elrond’s brow furrowed. “Sad? What makes you think they’re sad, penneth?”

“They don’t talk to each other and Glorfy isn’t being all happy,” Elrohir said seriously, his empathy obviously coming into play.

“Being all –?” Elrond cut himself off and stared into space as he pondered what the younger twin had just said. He had noticed that Erestor had been a more…blank-faced statue than usual, and Glorfindel had oddly lost his jokes that went all over the place – some not meant for little elflings’ ears. What had happened with those two? Elrond hummed in confusion and turned his gaze back to Elrohir, who was still waiting patiently for a reply.

“I don’t know, Elrohir. Glorfindel probably did something without thinking about it, as he tends to do, and Erestor was…hurt…” Elrond trailed off slowly and his eyes narrowed, thinking furiously. Erestor had claimed that his broken wrist was no fault of Glorfindel’s, but it could just be his accursed pride, trying to keep him from being embarrassed. Had it been Glorfindel who had wounded him? And why wouldn’t the Elda do anything about it? Glorfindel may have been heartless unwittingly, but if he knew he had injured a friend, his chivalry would never permit him to remain silent. Was that the problem that was going on between the two?

“Ada,” said Elrohir, tugging on his father’s robes and bringing him back to the present scene. “Ada, do you think that ‘Restor and Glorfy need something to make them happy?”

“They would probably like that,” Elrond said absent-mindedly, trying to figure out why neither Erestor nor Glorfindel had come to talk to him about it. Erestor never seemed to want to discuss anything outside his work life, but Glorfindel would have come to tell Elrond, right? This was an odd mystery, and one that needed solved quickly. Elrond hated seeing anyone in pain – physically or emotionally – and he had sensed that Erestor was feeling…something. Not a positive emotion, that was for sure. He concealed his feelings well, though, and even for a Peredhil with a drop of Maia blood, Elrond found it hard to decipher what Erestor was thinking.

“I will go cheer ‘Restor up!” Elrohir volunteered happily, and bounded off before his words even reached Elrond. He vanished out of the study, and Elrond watched him go with a slight smile. Elrohir certainly did know how to make people happier, and if he failed to make Erestor at least smile, Elrond would be surprised.

Right now, though, he had to deal with one thing at a time. The first was Glorfindel, obviously, since Elrond had to figure out just what had happened to make Erestor so…closed-off. He would find the problem after a long talk with Glorfindel – the Elda could solve many of the questions that puzzled Elrond. With that decided, Elrond popped his head out the door and called down the hall, “Courier?”

Within seconds, a dark-haired elf shot around the corner of the corridor and skidded to a halt before Elrond. He executed a hasty bow, then glanced up at his lord, his hair pulled back in a tight single braid. “Yes, my lord?”

“Tell Glorfindel to come to my study at his earliest convenience,” Elrond instructed, and the messenger nodded. “It will be done!”

That said, the courier flew down the hall again and disappeared.

Elrond again hummed approvingly to himself and then went back into his study, prepared to wait up to an hour before Glorfindel could come.

Elrond didn’t actually have that long to wait. A knock sounded at his door in a few minutes, and he pushed aside a few papers he had gathered to the side. “Come in!” he called, and the door opened, revealing Glorfindel.

The Balrog-slayer looked like he hadn’t slept at all. His golden waves were mussed, as usual, but his tunic was crinkled as if he had lain on it, and his leggings were strained with green at the knee, as if he had been kneeling in the freshly-cut grass. Elrond gave his appearance an odd look, then gestured to the seat across from his desk. “Sit please, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel plopped down in the chair, his usual fluidity apparently abandoned. He looked wearied, but his eyes held traces of guilt in their blue depths.

“Now….” started Elrond, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers, “I would like to know how Erestor’s wrist was broken.”

Glorfindel stared at him for a very long moment, then his shoulders slumped and he admitted in a terribly remorseful voice, “I did. I didn’t realize it until just a little while ago.”

“I see,” said Elrond, not seeing at all. He maintained his slightly stern, but unemotional face and waited for Glorfindel to continue; he wasn’t much surprised at the bluntness Glorfindel used. The Balrog-slayer wasn’t known for his ability of grace in diplomacy. “Go on.”

The Captain did so, running his hands through untamed golden hair. “I apologized,” he said, “but Erestor didn’t even seem to know what I was talking about! Then he got really mad at me and stomped away, and…” He shrugged helplessly. “I haven’t seen him since. I was planning on apologizing again, or trying to find some way to make it up to him, but…I can’t think of anything.”

“Ah.” Elrond could partially understand what had happened now, but he let Glorfindel go on.

“I didn’t know he was so – so…upset about the teasing, though,” Glorfindel sighed heavily and his posture was terrible with all the slumping he was doing. “I mean, it’s not like we don’t do it all the time. How was I supposed to know he would take offence this one time?”

Elrond just shook his head in exasperation. “You really don’t think about the differences between you two, do you?”

“Pardon?” Glorfindel said, but Elrond didn’t clarify, so he went on. “I do try to understand him, I really do! We do those…those chess nights…” He trailed off, looking slightly dejected. “Well…we used to have chess nights, but he stopped going. I waited for him for hours, but he never showed up.”

Elrond nodded in understanding, purposely keeping his mouth shut and not saying anything.

“And I…” Glorfindel paused and seemed to be thinking, or remembering something. “You know about the…prank war we had going on?” He waited for Elrond’s short nod, then continued, “Well, it was my turn the other day, and I figured that I would put a little cord at the bottom of the door, so when he went through he would trip.”

Elrond’s eyebrow arched, giving Glorfindel a questioning look.

“Oh!” Glorfindel hastily said, “I didn’t mean for him to fall! I just thought he would stumble a little, maybe drop a few papers or books he was carrying. It’s a ridiculous trick, I know, but it was all I could think of at the moment. I’ve been busy working on that bridge you wanted shored up. But Erestor was working really late and when I put it there, he…” Glorfindel stopped again and frowned. “Well, I don’t know what he was doing that late at night. It was almost midnight, and I was doing that so he would trip over it in the morning. But for some reason, he was coming back right after I put it there.” Glorfindel, remembering it, realized he was staring at the floor and raised his eyes to meet Elrond’s gaze, blue eyes earnest. “I didn’t know he was going to be that tired – it was supposed to be for the morning! Really!”

Elrond just raised his eyebrow again. “I’m not the one you should be convincing, am I?”

“But what do I do?” cried Glorfindel, succumbing to his fear and desperation, and fisting his hands in the golden hair that tumbled over his shoulders and down to his waist. “He won’t even look at me now except with that cold look in his eyes! He hates me now, and I can’t even talk to him!”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Elrond said, spreading his hands in a placating gesture.

“You didn’t see how he looked at me when I totally ruined that apology,” said Glorfindel, burying his head in his hands. “And then when I read the letter –”

“What letter?” Elrond interrupted. The simple sentence Glorfindel hadn’t finished had just given him a brief memory, a time about two years ago when he found a burnt letter in the fireplace labeled ‘Elrond.’ It had been so badly burned that Elrond hadn’t been able to open it without it crumbling, but he had seen his name on it and known the handwriting was Erestor’s. He wondered, as he had then, why it had been burnt when it was so obviously meant for him.

Glorfindel’s head snapped up and he fixed Elrond with a long look, then his jaw audibly clicked shut and he said no more. Elrond didn’t know whether he was just reluctant to disclose the contents of the letter, or if he wanted to…protect Erestor? But that didn’t make any sense!

“I should be going,” Glorfindel said finally after it was clear that Elrond would say nothing. He stood to his feet, but Elrond did as well and held his hand out to stop the Elda. “Wait, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel halted and sighed, glancing at him. Elrond pursed his lips. “I don’t think you should confront him now, Glorfindel. He needs time to…calm down, retain his dignity. He won’t appreciate it if you talk to him when he’s still simmering, and he just might blow up at you.”

Elrond thought he heard Glorfindel mutter something like ‘I deserve it,’ but the words weren’t clear and he decided not to comment on it. “Since you really don’t know the meaning of patience unless it’s in battle – and that’s not an insult,” he added when seeing Glorfindel’s disgruntled expression, “then I’m going to remove the temptation of bothering Erestor and you can do something else.”

“You want me to go on patrol, don’t you?” Glorfindel said with a resigned look on his face.

Elrond simply nodded, and Glorfindel seemed to draw a deep breath, then he gave a shrug. “Fine.” With that, he turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Elrond and more questions behind.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

“Erestor? Are you in there?” Glorfindel was in front of the door to Erestor’s chambers, his hand poised to knock. When no reply came, he rapped on the doorframe and asked again, “Erestor?”

There was still no answer. Glorfindel hesitated and looked down, then took a deep breath as he leaned closer to the door. “Erestor, if you’re in there, I want to…I want to say that I’m sorry. I really am! I didn’t mean for any of it to hurt you; it was just meant as a joke. I didn’t know you would take offence – and I never wanted you to get hurt!” He bit his lip, pausing. “Elrond said that he wanted me to go out on patrol, to…let you cool down, but I couldn’t leave without apologizing again. Could you forgive me, even if you’re not going to talk to me again? Erestor? Are you even in there?”

He listened, and heard the soft rustle of silk from inside somewhere, which at least meant Erestor was inside the room, even if he wasn’t listening to him. Encouraged, he went on. “I’ll be gone for about a week, maybe eight days. Is that time enough for you to calm down and then listen to me?” Glorfindel stared at the door, which looked back at him blankly and silently. “Erestor, can you please open the door? It’s kind of weird talking to nothing but a slab of wood.” He waited.

A moment later, the door was jerked open forcefully and he was staring into the angered face of Erestor. The adviser was fully dressed, his raven hair pulled back into delicate braids and his formal black robes trailing the floor. He didn’t wait for Glorfindel to speak, but rather stepped forward and pulled the door shut behind him. “You’re rather confident for someone who already got rejected once,” Erestor hissed, pushing past Glorfindel and going out into the hallway. “Stop thinking that an apology fixes everything – it doesn’t.”

With that, he swept away, his head held high and back stiff.

Glorfindel watched him leave, then his shoulders slumped and he turned to head toward the barracks to get ready to leave.

An hour later, the twenty elves for the patrol were assembled in the front courtyard, mounting their horses and exchanging jokes and laughter. Oddly, the person who was usually the leader in the teasing was unnaturally silent, his blue eyes dark and brooding.

Glorfindel watched for any sign of Erestor as he mounted his white stallion, but there was no sign of the adviser. Elrond stood beside the gate, conversing with a young guard and instructing him the specific areas to go through. Glorfindel, even though he was Captain of the Guard, didn’t always take over a patrol. Usually he only went to observe how his recruits’ training had gone; how they incorporated it in the field and in a mild amount of danger. There never really was much risk leaving the heart of Imladris – enemies tended to sense the power of Elrond’s Ring in the depths of their souls and steered clear of it.

“Glorfindel,” called Elrond, his discussion with the other, more minor captain complete. He navigated around a few frisky horses that were eager to be off, then stopped beside Glorfindel’s white mount and looked up at him, a slight frown marring his forehead.

“Yes, my lord?” Glorfindel asked, feigning politeness as he scanned the few dozen elves that had come to see them off. Erestor wasn’t among them, so he switched his gaze to the open walkways that went through the courtyard.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Elrond said firmly, causing Glorfindel to finally take notice of him.

“Mm? Oh, of course not.” Glorfindel smiled, but it was obviously a strained effort to anyone who was paying close attention. “Of course not…” He saluted Elrond, then tapped his horse’s sides and moved forward as the rest of the patrol began leaving the courtyard and walking or trotting down the path that led far down and between hills, then over the Bruinen and into wild territory.

Glorfindel wondered what he was going to do when he got back. Maybe Erestor would consider hearing him out next time? It was doubtful, but he would keep trying.

His stallion’s hooves clopping on the bridge over the first low ravine, Glorfindel turned one last time to look back at Imladris, and then he saw the person he had been watching for. Erestor stood with a few servants moving around him, his form silent and still. His ebony hair was braided away from his face, eyes dark and cool. They met Glorfindel’s eyes and a tension hung in the air for that brief moment as Glorfindel tried to plead silently for Erestor to change his mind, to forgive him, and for a second he thought he saw something flash in the fathomless black orbs, but then the adviser turned away sharply and vanished down a pathway.

Glorfindel hesitated, lifting a hand and pressing it to his tunic pocket unconsciously. There was the outline of an envelope on the pocket, and Glorfindel looked like he was considering wheeling his horse and heading back, but then the captain of the patrol called him. He stilled, then reluctantly nudged his mount forward and followed the others, at the very back of the group. Right before he disappeared around the bend of the trail, he glanced back and saw nothing, and then bowed his head and continued on.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

“I’ve finished writing those reports you needed assimilated,” Lisondrë said when she saw the Chief Counselor appear in the doorway of the small study she had been afforded. His hands were entwined behind his back, his bandaged wrist caught in the other hand, and he looked…on edge. There was no other way to describe his bearing. He seemed sort of twitchy, his dark eyes flicking back and forth from her to other items in the room, and his mouth was pursed.

Lisondrë knew that what he was thinking was none of her business, but she wasn’t blind, and she had seen the tension – putting it lightly – between the adviser and Glorfindel. She didn’t like seeing other people conflicted with themselves, and she wasn’t a timid person, but then again, she didn’t want to lose her job. Erestor – she just couldn’t bring herself to call him Lord when she had known him as a young adviser in Lindon – had just started to partially…trust her, although it was only in a professional manner and she planned to get him to come out of his shell a little more.

“Lisondrë,” Erestor finally said, unclasping his hands and letting them fall to his sides, where he tapped his robes in an agitated sort of way. His bandaged wrist was bound tightly and he used it almost as he did the other one, though he couldn’t bend his fingers to write. “I seem to be missing something. It was in my drawer a few days ago, but now it’s gone.”

“Well,” said Lisondrë, stacking the ten or so reports she had been working on and flicking through the pile of papers on her desk. She frowned when she couldn’t find the small note she had written to herself, then shook her head and piled the mound of reports in her arms. She moved toward the door, finding her way without seeing where she was stepping. Carefully edging past Erestor, she raised her eyebrows and said, “It might help to know what was missing, since you asked me to organize those letters that were supposed to be sent and they were all over the place.”

Erestor followed her as she went the short distance to Lord Elrond’s study, then opened the door for her when she paused. “It’s…” He seemed to hesitate, then went on, “It was a letter as well, but unopened and sealed with crimson wax. It was in the upper left drawer, above the shelf where I put the extra quills.

“Oh, that!” exclaimed Lisondrë, remembering the envelope with that carefully-written name on the front, tucked between two small manuals as if it was meant to be hidden. “The cream-colored one addressed to Glorfindel?”

She glanced at him as she set the reports down on a table already overflowing with papers. Erestor had stilled, his hands going behind his back to clasp together once more.

“Yes, that one,” he said.

“Well, it did have Glorfindel’s name on it,” said Lisondrë, wondering if this was another odd quirk of her employer. Had he wanted to give it to the Balrog-slayer personally? “It was obviously meant for him, so when he came in the other night looking for you, I gave it to him.” She winced as a stack of papers slipped from the table and hit the floor, then bent to pick them up.

“You gave it to him?” Erestor’s voice was low, and when she looked over at him, he seemed to have paled slightly.

“Yes,” said Lisondrë slowly, then she drew in a sharp breath and her lips parted in nervousness. “Was it not supposed to have gone to him? I thought, because – it had his name on it, and you wanted me to send the other letters, that –”

“No, it’s fine,” Erestor said, but she could tell that it was not, and then he turned and left, his hands twisting anxiously behind his back again. Lisondrë didn’t know if she should go after him or not, but she really didn’t know him that well, and so…

He would probably want to be left alone.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Curse Lisondrë. Curse her and her meddling!

After the initial shock wore off, Erestor was just angry. How could his assistant give that letter to Glorfindel? It was never meant to be read! No wonder Glorfindel had acted all contrite before he left – he had read the letter-meant-for-no-one’s-eyes and had felt sorry for him!

Of course, even in his irritation, Erestor’s mind was working furiously and sensibly. There was no way to get the words back, or erase them, so there had to be something else he could do. He knew, naturally, that it wasn’t Lisondrë’s fault – she had just been doing as she was told – but that didn’t make him any less annoyed.

Many, many different solutions were speeding through his mind, but all were immediately discarded. None of the ones that involved firing Lisondrë would work, since he hated to admit it, but he needed her to inscribe his work for him. Feeling helpless was something Erestor was not accustomed to, and he didn’t like the fact that he had to rely upon an assistant to do all of his work for him. With his perfectionist attitude, he had to check everything that she wrote for him, including orders for supplies, letters, reports from the borders, and the occasional misspelling that a scribe made in a book.

Then again, none of the solutions with Glorfindel coming back worked either. He simply could not imagine meeting Glorfindel’s eyes after the Balrog-slayer had read those ridiculous and self-pitying words. He regretted them now, that his weak emotions had caused him to write it, but there was nothing he could do to take them back after Glorfindel had read them.

One thing, something completely irrational, was tapping away at Erestor’s mind, trying to get his attention. He shoved it away, still aggravated, but it shoved persistently at him until he sighed exasperatedly and allowed his mind to focus fully on it. It was an idea – an absolutely ridiculous idea – that perhaps Glorfindel hadn’t meant any of that, he truly did enjoy Erestor’s company, and that…maybe, he was truly sorry for the hurt he had caused Erestor.

Scoffing, Erestor cast the thought away, but it lingered, nagging at him occasionally. Erestor turned his mind to other thoughts, one of which included a solution that just might work. It was insane, preposterous, absurd, and illogical…but it just might work.

He was going to get that letter from Glorfindel.

He knew, obviously, that Glorfindel would never give something like that up. The Balrog-slayer was infuriatingly stubborn, and would never let Erestor have the letter back. Erestor was going to have to resort to more…unconventional means.

Now, Erestor was not a thief. He would be exceedingly angered to hear someone name him that. But…he thought of that letter as his, and not meant to be given, so it would mean nothing to have it back. Except that Glorfindel would no longer have the means to – blackmail him, or whatever strange irrational reasons were swimming around in the adviser’s head as an excuse to get it again. Maybe he just didn’t want Glorfindel to read it – if he already had, then read it again – so he was determined not to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

At least, instead of meddling more, Elrond had sent Glorfindel on that long patrol. It would make things easier for Erestor. There was always the chance that Glorfindel had taken the letter with him, but that thought didn’t occur to Erestor – Glorfindel wasn’t a sentimental elf by nature, and would most likely never carry something of inconsequential value with him on a patrol that was long enough to only need things that were necessary.

Therefore, the most likely place the letter would be was in…Glorfindel’s chambers.

Erestor had already started a plan to get in there.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

That night, putting the last of the items for the day into organized piles on his desk, Erestor was hailed by Lord Elrond, who had apparently been looking for him.

“Ah, there you are,” said Elrond, opening the door and seeing Erestor stacking the last of his papers on the edge of the desk.

Erestor hesitated, trying to figure out how he was supposed to get the massive list of books to the library where they were to be archived, but finally decided to leave them there and have Lisondrë get them on the morrow. He tucked his bandaged arm to his side and moved around the desk, walking briskly toward the door. “Did you need me, my lord?” he said cursorily, stopping before Elrond and looking mildly impatient. He had many things to prepare for tonight.

“I was just going to inform you of the most recent activity on the border,” said Elrond calmly, raising a faintly disapproving eyebrow at his Counselor’s tone.

Erestor looked suitably repentant, dipping his head slightly. “I am listening.”

“There has been an influx of enemy movement near the border on the Bruinen, and the patrol there seems to have found tracks that are a few days old. The captain of the patrol has informed me that they are going to follow the tracks to see where the orcs are going, with my permission.”

“The patrol near the river…that’s that one with Glorfindel in it,” Erestor mused, and then tilted his head ever-so-slightly.

“Indeed,” Elrond agreed, wondering silently. “I have sent back a message to tell the captain to proceed, and Glorfindel will follow orders, of course, so he will go along with them. They will be back in about a week, perhaps. Just a few days longer than they would have been there originally, as long as everything goes as planned.” His grey eyes studied Erestor intensely, looking for any type of reaction.

“Yes,” Erestor said mildly. Inside his mind he was thinking hurriedly, hoping with that much time passed when Glorfindel got back he would have forgotten about the letter. By then, maybe Erestor wouldn’t be so…upset.

Erestor wasn’t planning on ever having ‘chess night’ again, however. “Is that all?” he queried courteously, and when Elrond seemed to shrug and nod in agreement, Erestor tilted his head in acquiescence and left the room.

He went to the laundries first and gave the list of needed items for tomorrow, then headed to the kitchens and acquired an inventory of food used during that day. Then he checked the minstrels’ room where they kept their main instruments and made sure that the Head Minstrel, Lindir, had the music planned for the next few days. That done, he stopped by the stables and the blacksmith shop to ensure that everything was running smoothly, the horses had enough food, everything was clean, and the blacksmith had all the supplies he needed.

After all of that – which had taken him almost two hours – he had recorded all of that in a rolled parchment that he had carried, along with a few lists that the Masters of trade had given him. He left it in his office, where he would go over it sometime in the morning and fill out the orders that were needed. It was rather awkward scribbling on it with his left hand, but it was somewhat decipherable and Lisondrë had other things that he had assigned her, so she couldn’t help him tonight.

Well. Lisondrë would write the orders down, since he was…incapable of doing so himself, but he would dictate. Erestor hated not being able to do something. He could proudly say that there was not a thing that had to do with his job that he could do. Now, though, there was barely anything that he could get accomplished, and it took much longer than usual, just because of this accursed wrist.

Needless to say, Erestor was still angry at Glorfindel.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Glorfindel stared with barely concealed fury into the embers that hissed and crackled with dying flames. A few yards behind him, his horse snuffled and stomped nervously at the smoke that trickled into his nostrils, but remained where he was as a well-trained elven horse would do.

Not noticing – or caring – at the moment, about his horse, Glorfindel let his senses focus on the charred remains of the house that lay before him, knowing that the creatures that had destroyed it were long gone. He didn’t drop his guard, though, remaining perfectly aware of his surroundings and the other elves in his patrol that searched for tracks behind him.

They were looking for any sign that the humans who had once lived here had escaped, and Glorfindel let them, though he could have told them almost immediately that the people hadn’t gotten away. Glorfindel had visited this small family that lived on the outskirts of the Imladrian border, to ensure that they were no threat. He had spoken with the father, young, yet hardened and sure of his safety; talked to the mother who was dark-skinned and heavy-boned, a good wife for her farming husband; and had seen their young blonde-haired daughter who had stared at him with awe in her bright eyes. She had been too shy to come closer than the safety of her mother’s skirts, and Glorfindel had left, quite positive they were no threat to Imladris.

He could see their twisted and blackened bodies in the remains of the cabin now, charred bones poking through skeletal remains. His stomach twisted in nausea and rage when he espied the tiny body that was the young girl’s, her form burnt beyond recognition. Smoke twined around him, bitter and acrid, and it stung his lungs as he breathed it in. He refused to step back, however, punishing himself in that small way as he knew that he should have insisted that a patrol come this way sooner. After all, hadn’t he known that there was a party of Orcs crossing the area near here?

A voice behind him.

“Captain, we have found no human tracks leading away from the house,” a youthful, wearied warrior told the captain of this patrol.

Glorfindel found himself listening, though he wasn’t the one being addressed. It was always good to have extra information.

“And the orcs?” The captain’s voice was tight. This hadn’t been expected – it was supposed to be a normal patrol, checking the very outskirts of Imladris and going in a loop before heading along the river back to the Last Homely House. No one had considered that a group of brigand Orcs would pass by this way, marauding and burning the house they had come upon. The young farmer and his wife, their delicate daughter, never had a chance.

Glorfindel found his fists were clenched angrily as he awaited the guard’s reply.

“They are leaving this area, heading toward the North,” said the warrior. His tone was quiet, but a simmering rage that matched Glorfindel’s lay just underneath. “There are almost thirty of them.”

The captain hesitated only a briefest moment, and then Glorfindel sensed his resolve harden. “We go after them.”

Glorfindel felt a grim satisfaction and his eyes glittered dangerously. He stared hard into the flickering flames again, saw another place burning, screams echoing around him…a fire roaring angrily and a snarling monster before him, fiery whip lashing – and then the memory was gone and Glorfindel turned to snag his mount’s reins.

Then he heard the sound. A plaintive mew came from the bushes just far enough away from the house to escape being burned. Glorfindel turned his head slowly and caught a brief flash of glimmering fur before the bush rustled and the thing moved further away.

He only thought about it for a second before he moved toward it.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Erestor froze mid-step when he heard a creak of the floorboards. Someone was walking toward him. He hadn’t really considered what would happen if he was discovered in this side of the housing chambers – the area where the high-ranking warriors were stationed, and Glorfindel had his chambers in the closest side to the main hallway.

A moment later, he was relieved to hear the footsteps move away, padding down the corridor and going into another room. A door clicked and the person was gone.

Releasing a sigh, Erestor pulled his cloak tighter about him and continued walking, his face veiled by the hood. The cloak he was wearing was one of his old ones, not black like the rest of his clothes, but a dark grey that seemed to shimmer whenever he took a step. It was why he never wore it in public. He followed the path by memory, turning at a sharp curve and then seeing the memorable door that led to Glorfindel’s quarters.

He glanced around nervously before raising his hand and knocking. He didn’t know why he knocked, since Glorfindel obviously wasn’t here, but it seemed…courteous? Maybe just to make sure, however unlikely, that there was no one here. There was no answer, of course, and Erestor hesitated again before trying the doorknob. It turned easily in his hand, unlocked; Glorfindel wasn’t an elf who was concerned for his privacy.

Pushing the door open, Erestor glanced inside. He didn’t know why he felt so on edge – it wasn’t like he hadn’t been here before. He had come to these rooms quite a few times actually, one time that was fresh in his memory was a few weeks ago when he’d had to drag Glorfindel back from that drinking contest. At…the night they played chess. Erestor’s mouth tightened and he banished the memory that had resurfaced, of laughter and friendly banter.

“So, I’m here,” he said into the darkened and empty room. No echo came like it would in his rooms, since these chambers were too stuffed with furniture and weapons and items of that ilk to create a reverberation.

“I hate letters,” Erestor remarked to the shadows, and then wondered why he was talking to himself. He released a breathy chuckle, then shut the door behind him. It closed with a solid click, and his apprehension returned for a moment, but he shrugged and went further inside. He found an oil lamp in the corner of the room, and a few candles, and lit them to drive away the lurking shadows that hung everywhere in the room.

He glanced around the room to get his bearings; identifying the most likely places Glorfindel would have put his letter.

Then he began looking.

First he checked the small drawers on the bookshelf – surprisingly, it had books of lore and history arranged neatly – but there was nothing in there except small trinkets of various values. He shut them, uninterested in anything besides the letter.

The heavy oak shelves on the wall he went through next, finding nothing but a collection of drawings, and some carved statuettes that looked as though Glorfindel had made them personally. He paused to examine a delicate figurine of female, and looked closely at her face. He was mildly surprised to see that it bore a close resemblance to the paintings he had seen of Idril, her high cheekbones and the tilted purse to her lips easily recognizable.

Curiosity edging him on, Erestor picked up another carving and immediately recognized the broad shoulders, set jaw, and windswept hair of Tuor, his face eerily similar to Elrond’s mannish features. Even more inquisitive now, Erestor examined the next piece and found that it looked like someone he knew had been close friends with Glorfindel…the carving was standing, head tilted to the side and eyes closed, a flute raised to his lips. Erestor could practically hear the sweet trilling of the instrument echoing through the room, and he shuddered suddenly, setting it down quickly. His abrupt movement knocked over another figurine, and as Erestor hastily set it up right again, he could see a slash of a mouth, low-drawn eyebrows, and seemingly-glaring eyes.

The angry carving looked odd…and after a moment, Erestor realized why. It held a young child in its arms, the face of the adolescent twisted in frozen terror. He realized who it was supposed to be – Maeglin and the youngling Earendil at the fall of Gondolin, when the traitor held the child over roaring flames below.

With another involuntary shudder, Erestor placed it back where it had been and turned to examine the rest of the room. His gaze was caught by a strange-shaped carving on the very edge of the shelf, and he paused to give it a second look. This one required no thought to know what it was – wide, exquisitely-shaped wings, a great hunched figure with ripples along the wood signifying fire, a paper-thin jagged whip stretching up and curling above a snarling face, arms corded with fiery muscles, and tiny etched flames dancing over the entire body. There was a large swathe along the lower legs that wasn’t finished, as if Glorfindel hadn’t known how to complete it.

Erestor reached out a cautious hand and ran his finger along the stretched wings. Something flashed in his mind – fire, everywhere, the stench of burning flesh and hair, screams above him – and he jerked back, blinking rapidly to clear his mind. The images were gone as soon as he had seen them, and he gave the carved Balrog a questioning look, wondering if he had just imagined it.

Shaking his head, Erestor turned away and looked over the rest of the room. It was partially wreathed in shadows, but there was enough light by which for him to see. He examined the room, wondering where Glorfindel would hide a letter that he could use for blackmail…

He felt a flash of remorse at not listening to Glorfindel earlier but he tamped it down firmly, pulling up his churning anger at Glorfindel’s thoughtlessness and continual annoying persistence. Seeing a desk in the corner, cluttered as he expected it to be, he went to that next. First he checked between and underneath stacks of papers, riffling through half-written reports and wrinkled parchments with scribbled orders from Lord Elrond on them. He found nothing but a few packets of information that had gone mysteriously missing – now he knew that they had just gotten lost among the unorganized contents of Glorfindel’s small desk in his front room.

Erestor didn’t think Glorfindel would have put the letter in his bedchambers – or at least he hoped not. He didn’t think he was quite rude enough to intrude that far into someone’s privacy.

Sighing as he realized that his letter wasn’t in this mess, Erestor pulled the top drawer on the right open, turning awkwardly to open it with his left hand. He saw a few quills, a half-empty capped bottle of ink, and a strange brooch.

Erestor’s brow wrinkled in confusion when he saw the brooch. He had never seen it before – it didn’t look like something Glorfindel would wear. He picked it up lightly and wondered at the design on the front, then turned it and his mind automatically translated the High-elven language inscribed on the back.

For my darling golden-haired boy, from your loving Naneth.

Laurefindil, in Quenya. Naneth. This was from Glorfindel’s mother? Erestor’s dark eyes widened infinitesimally and he ran his fingers over the edges of the brooch, where it was worn from much handling. This had to be incredibly old…and much loved, for Erestor had never heard Glorfindel speak of his parents but with a smile on his face and a reminiscent sparkle in his eyes.

Erestor felt a sudden surge of guilt, and he set the brooch back down gently in the drawer. He stood for a long moment, feeling suddenly very foolish, and slowly pushed the drawer shut. Then he glanced around the room, remembering everything that had happened in the past few weeks, and he lowered his head and headed for the door.

The letter didn’t seem quite so important now.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Glorfindel landed heavily when he swung out of his saddle. His feet caught solidly on the stone courtyard, and he handed the reins to his stallion to a servant that rushed to him, eager to take care of the great warrior’s mount. He usually took care of his horse himself, but he found himself too wearied to do so right now.

He watched for a long moment as the other members of the patrol dismounted, grim and spattered in the black filthy blood of Orcs, a few holding wounded limbs or quickly bandaged sides.

Glorfindel remembered his unrestrained rage in the all-too-brief battle and he didn’t wonder why he hadn’t received any wounds. He turned from the dispersing guards, glad that he wasn’t the captain of this patrol, and that he didn’t have to give an oral report to Erestor – who probably still hated him – about the week and a half they had spent out on the edges of the Wild.

And anyway, he had to take care of something. The remembrance came when that something, warm and tucked in his ample tunic pocket stirred and then wriggled, wanting to be free from her confines.

“Shh, pen-neth,” soothed Glorfindel, calming the creature and feeling it settle at his reassuring voice. After all, he had been the one that rescued her from that terrible flame and burning place, with his soft voice and gentle hands. She stilled, but then curiosity overcame her at the brightness peeking into her cozy haven, and she scrabbled up to peek out. Cozy sunlight greeted her eyes, and she blinked fuzzily. Then tender fingers rubbed behind her twitching ears, and she purred and arched up into the warm touch.

A slight smile tugged at Glorfindel’s mouth at the kitten’s demands of more petting. He complied, running his fingers over the silky fur, and continued his trek toward the kitchens. He planned on finding her something to eat, then going to…organize something in his office he rarely used that was in the barracks. Or maybe he would just retire to his chambers for the rest of the day.

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

“Erestor!” called Lisondrë, trotting into the Chief Counselor’s office with a bundle of scrolls tucked under one arm and a madly flapping list in the other. “The patrol from the North has returned – the captain is coming to give his report.”

Erestor turned the paper he had been examining for errors and slipped it on the stack that rested beside the orders from this morning. He stared for a moment at the desk that was, for once, free of any writing objects, and then lifted his chin resolutely and moved out from behind it, tucking his bandaged arm to his side. He reached out and snagged a small bottle of ink and a quill as he went past a cabinet, and dropped them into Lisondrë’s hands when she went past. She fumbled awkwardly, but caught them and slipped them into a pocket at her waist and followed.

“Note anything of importance that he mentions,” Erestor instructed, pulling his cold mask into place once more. The captain he was about to speak to wasn’t Glorfindel, but he needed to be swift nonetheless. If that patrol was back, if meant Glorfindel was back. Erestor needed to speak to the Balrog-slayer, but he didn’t know when he would find the chance. Maybe right after this captain gave his report.

“Right,” Lisondrë said, dumping the scrolls haphazardly onto a small table right beside the door before they went out. One rolled and she barely caught it, placed it on the table, and then hurried after Erestor, who wasn’t waiting for her. She caught up and folded the still-fluttering list she had in her other hand. “Do you want me to have him fill out a report paper?”

Erestor didn’t even have to think about that. “Yes, but wait until tomorrow to give it to him. Use one of the fill sheets – this captain is rather lazy about correct grammar and it would be best if Lord Elrond can understand the writing.”

“Right,” she said again, frantically shoving the list into her pocket as well and yanking out a notepad she always carried with her. She flipped to a clean page and scribbled a notation on it with the small bit of powdery lead that she always carried with her.

Erestor stepped into the room that was always used for small meetings and for the reports captains gave once they were back from a patrol. He spied the captain immediately – a broad-shouldered warrior with glinting grey eyes and auburn tresses in a single braid. He stood beside the large table in the room, his face set and hands entwined behind his back.

“Ah, you’re here already, good.” Erestor waited impatiently while Lisondrë tugged out a folded piece of paper from her seemingly endless pocket and set in on the table. She then took out the ink bottle and quill Erestor had given her, putting them next to the paper and preparing to write.

With an exasperated sigh, Erestor turned back to the captain, who was facing him now. “You may begin,” said Erestor. He almost clasped his hands behind his back, but winced when a jolt of pain from his still-healing wrist shot up his arm, and then the captain began his report.

When he was finished, Erestor stood silently for a long moment, then turned and left the room.

 

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed (and weren’t disappointed)! The Revenge series will have one more part after this, and then everything will be resolved…maybe. *laughs evilly*  
So anyways, please comment/kudo! Really, the next part will come much sooner than this one did. *winces* Yesh…sorry about that.


End file.
